


A Winter's Tale

by mademoisellesansa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Depression and Anger, F/M, If you are looking for happy you won't find it here, M/M, Plot, Post-Canon, Rated For Violence, Slow Build, Some Fluff, Spoilers, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellesansa/pseuds/mademoisellesansa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thedas sees its first winter of peace in many decades, but with it comes news of starvation and conspiracies against the power of the Inquisition. As they try to rebuild their lives and their world, the Inquisition unravels and they discover that they are all casualties of the war against Corypheus. </p><p>A plea for help purportedly from a missing Paragon forces the remaining members of the Inquisition to reconsider their bonds of loyalty to their cause and to each other.</p><p>Set after the events of the game.</p><p>Note: The events of this story are mostly sourced from the delusional imagination of the writer, but I will try to keep the developments within the scope of canonical lore, while continuing to build out the world as is necessary for the purposes of Plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Wings, Dark Words

The first snowfall of winter crept without warning onto Skyhold's ancient battlements and courtyards, sleeping languidly upon the unchanging stone. It was the first winter of peace that Thedas had seen in half a lifetime of man and the stillness rested uneasily upon the land, as if it were awaiting a rude awakening that would return it to the times of strife and violence that it had become accustomed to. The wounds of the past decades ran deep along the coasts and forests of Orlais and Ferelden - the victory had come too late for too few farmers to return to their fields - and news of starvation came daily to Skyhold. _Dark wings, dark words_ Leliana had joked at their final council meeting, but the truth of her words were borne out by the entreaties for help that flew in almost daily on the wings of the Inquisition's ravens.

There was a feeling of emptiness even within Skyhold's walls, where the pantries and storehouses were well-stocked and wanted for nothing. With each rift they closed, the unseen rifts between the Inquisition widened until they ventured afield less and less frequently. Solas was the first and the most painful absence, the unfinished mural in his rotunda a painted reflection of his lingering presence in Reina's life - stories from his travels that would never end, questions that would never be answered, and conversations that would never see a conclusion. He had disappeared before he could become a stranger and at times, sitting barefoot on the scaffolding she refused to have removed, Reina was almost grateful for this final gift from her dearest mentor and advisor. Even as each of Leliana's reports raised a fresh question or unveiled another deception, Solas alone remained in Reina's mind as he had always been.

"He is here, in the Fade," she had murmured to Cullen one night, when the Commander had found her curled into a sleepy bundle of blankets on the rotunda floor. She wondered if her confession had hurt him, but she could not read the mask of emotions that concealed his thoughts. What had happened to her blunt, artless commander, she had wondered. How had he become a casualty of her war against Corypheus without her realization?

She had crept back into her chambers before the sunrise of the next morning, pretending to awaken in a room that suddenly felt too large and too empty. It still felt unnatural - to let her maidservants lace her into embroidered gowns heavier than Cullen's mail - but the battles she armored herself for had become as instinctive as drawing breath. Since when, a voice suspiciously like Cole's would whisper, had she started recognizing herself only when she was hidden behind the gilded Orlesian mask of the Lady Inquisitor?

The coronation of Divine Victoria had been the official emblem that marked the return of peace to Thedas. For centuries to come, the quills of historians would write awe-filled accounts of how Empress Celene and the Herald of Andraste herself had knelt to kiss the ring of the new Divine, who would come to accomplish more in her reign than any of her predecessors before her and any successors who had yet to follow. Yet, as Reina knelt before the Divine, she saw the funeral of her Cassandra, her fearless shield and unyielding sword, and in her place, the birth of a stranger, a woman for whom campside arguments with Varric would be as impossible as if it were a page from another person's life.

"Her Holiness' counsel is her own," she had demurred when pressed by the throngs of nobles and supplicants that were gathered about the Sunburst Throne. "I am no more confidant to what the Maker has told Her Holiness of His will than anyone else who has come to celebrate her blessed ascension." It had been almost too easy to forget the long nights spent huddled before a quiet fire, sharing their doubts and faith and visions of the future. To the surprise of many, it had been First Enchanter Vivienne who had taken her place at the Divine's Right Hand, the first mage to ever serve in so exalted a position in the Chantry. For the Lady Inquisitor, it had been a conclusion long in the making.

"My dear, now that Corypheus is no longer a threat, I'm afraid I must soon return to Val Royeaux. With the reformation of the Circles, Montsimmard will be the premiere light to which all other Circles will look for guidance," Vivienne had confided in her over tea and cakes at the enchantress' salon. Reina had expected this revelation, and was prepared to forestall it.

"Vivienne," she had concealed their faces behind a fan, as if the words she whispered to the enchantress were too dangerous for even the ears of the northern wind that swept through the fortress, "Who is more aware of the dangers that magic can poise than a mage? Would it not be wiser, then, for mages to serve a greater role in the Chantry - the better to safeguard against the abuses of power that are certain to arise?" The eyes of the enchantress had lit with fascination, leaving Reina satisfied that her words had had the intended effect.

"What twists and turns your mind takes, my dear. Do you propose then to bring the Inquisition into the fold of the Chantry and undertake this yourself?" Reina had paused, as if considering the possibility, before ruefully shaking her head.

"The Inquisition best serves its purpose outside of the Chantry - as an ally, not as a crutch that will unduly influence it as it rebuilds. Another mage, perhaps, one whom Divine Victoria knows and trusts - who can advise her on the intricacies of the relationship between magic and politics in Orlais."

"That is indeed an idea. She would need to be a leader among the mages that remained loyal during the rebellion of course."

"Of course."

Perhaps Vivienne had suspected the game that Reina had set into motion with their conversation, perhaps she remained oblivious, but she had accepted the denouement as gracefully as she had accepted every opportunity at power that had presented itself in her life. Somewhere deep inside of her, Reina had regretted the loss of the older woman who had served as an anchor to her past, but that regret, too, belonged to a ghost from the Fade. With Vivienne's entry into the Chantry, the Montsimmard Circle gradually diminished in influence, allowing the nascent Circle of Skyhold to become the guiding light to which all other Circles turned. Sometimes, while penning a regretful refusal to an invitation to one of the Right Hand's selective salons, Reina remembered Vivienne's gravestone in the Fade. Irrelevancy, like power, was, after all, relative.

Even so, there was an emptiness that echoed through Skyhold's halls as the fortress stirred to wakefulness beneath its blanket of silvery snow. The clamor of the kitchen as its furnaces flamed into life seemed sadder somehow - the angry insults of the cook as she boxed a kitchen maid's ears dropping hollowly to the earthen floor. Without the threat of Corypheus, many of the soldiers that had swelled the ranks of the Inquisition's army had returned to their peacetime lives, and the training yards felt lonely without the clashing of swords and shields during early morning drills.

"I can manage, thank you," Reina dismissed the servant that timidly inquired on the state of her fire. It had become a source of amusement for her - that they would ask if they could provide a service that she could accomplish just as easily with a flick of her fingers.

"Yes, Your Worship," the servant disappeared down the staircase leading to the Great Hall. Perhaps these were the consequences of peacetime - expediency giving way to etiquette. A swirl of wind swept in through the open balcony windows, dislodging the mountains of invitations, requisitions, reports, and treaties that had kept Reina company through her long nightly vigil.

"You should try to sleep." Cullen set a pile of retrieved paperwork on Reina's desk.

"I do try, Commander," Reina smiled through the piercing headache that made her vision swim, the mask slipping effortlessly into place.

"Reina." A pair of gloved hands draped her velveteen dressing gown over her shoulders and drew her into a tight embrace. She sighed and closed her eyes, resting her head against his armor.

"I do try, Cullen. It hasn't been ... easy."

"You could talk to me." Reina shook her head and laughed.

"I think we have both been witness to enough of the Great Game to have our doubts about how effective talking is."

"Only if you talk like that." There was a dark edge to Cullen's voice that seemed to fringe all of their conversations lately - as if he and Reina spoke as duelists en garde, rather than lovers who had once shared each other's hearts and beds.

"I'm not certain I catch your meaning." Reina gently disentangled herself from his arms and began to undress, her dressing gown and nightshift following each other into a colorful pile of discarded fabric on her untouched bed. As she turned to open the heavy wooden doors of her wardrobe, she heard the clink of armor as Cullen turned away, closing her balcony windows and poking her fire back to life, exiling the lingering winter chill. She rested her hand briefly on her battlemage armor, caressing the soft samite and smouldering dragonbone that lay hidden in the furthest reaches of the wardrobe, before tossing a warm woolen dress lined with fennec fur and a cotton shift over the back of her armchair. "If you wouldn't mind," she murmured to Cullen, lifting her unbraided hair as he dutifully tightened and secured the laces of her dress. His hands did not linger on her slender curves or on the smooth skin of her back, as they once might have; instead, Cullen quickly stepped back, his hands naturally coming to rest on the hilt of his sword as he gazed at Reina with eyes cold with disgust. For yourself or for me? Reina wondered, a sly half smile curving her lips.

"If there is nothing more, I will take my leave."

"And what will the gossips think - to see you _come and go_ so hurriedly?" Even Reina despised herself as she braided her hair, devouring Cullen's expression as she watched him over her shoulder. The heat on his face, she did not delude herself, was from barely checked fury and self-loathing, not desire, but it was almost enough, to see that she could still twist his emotions between her hands.

"Maker's breath." Without sparing her a glance, he left, only pausing briefly at the staircase to whisper, "Reina, I know you're still in that woman and by the Maker I will find you." That was the problem, Reina laughed softly as she pinned her braids into an elaborate bun, they were all greedy, so greedy - even her beloved, withdrawal-addled golden commander. Only Solas had understood the sin of wanting more than another person could give, the danger of desiring to truly know someone else's mind. Solas, who had walked quietly in her dreams after her second journey through the Fade, easing her nightmares by sharing them, not by asking and asking and asking. Solas who had instinctively known how to never ask a question she couldn't answer - who understood that intentions were more important than honesty. Her mentor, her friend, whose greatest fear had been to die alone.

"You hurt him. He looks at you and sees a stranger who wears her skin but not her soul. He wishes he knew how to make you you again, but every day you become less and less."

"You should tell 'him' that less is more." Reina wrapped a thick woolen shawl around her shoulders and straightened a toppling tower of paperwork, her patience for the spirit's helping quickly wearing thin. Cole quietly sat cross-legged on Reina's bed, the wide brim of his hat hiding his unnervingly pale eyes.

"He is only trying to help. I want to help too. Masks, words, lies. Hiding, hurting, hating. I don't remember who I am. Who am I? I don't remember who I am. Idon'trememberwhoIam!" The spirit's words tumbled out faster and faster, each repetition tripping over the one before, while he swayed in agitation, his head clutched between a pair of bloodless hands. The piercing pain that lurked behind Reina's eyes intensified, blinding her with bursts of bright green light. In an instant, she was transported back to the Fade, the foul green fog swirling about her ankles as Nightmare's voice echoed in her mind,

"The Herald of Andraste? The Inquisitor? How cleverly you hide behind your titles. Who are you really? A lie. An empty shell set up for men to worship. They shall see you for the fraud you are."

"Out!" Reina could barely see through the furious tears that had suddenly flooded her eyes, "Out! Out of my head. Out of my life. Out! All of you ... out ..." She tasted blood as she curled into herself, reaching through the Fade for other memories, as she felt her shoulders heaving with sobs. The snow falling on Haven, quiet and peaceful. Winter nights walking with Cullen along the training grounds. Solas. _Solace_. A coldness met her fingertips and she let it slowly spread through her veins, numbing the sharp burn of pain and anger that was coursing through them.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could help," she heard Cole apologizing quietly as calm slowly settled back into her tired body. Vaguely, as if from a distance, she heard the crackling sound of a spark in her fireplace and the rustling breath of the winter wind against the windows. Skyhold. Reina forced herself to focus on those sounds, clinging to them like Ariadne's string of pearls as she slowly drew herself back to shore. Her breath returned in hasty gulps and she felt her mask falling seamlessly back into place.

"You could always fetch me a pair of dancing cats," Reina smiled as she dried her eyes, "Or a chancellor to deal with all of this tiresome paperwork."

"Is that helping?" Cole's voice sounded sad. During moments like these, Reina almost wished that she had allowed Varric to humanize him, turn him into a boy. No matter how familiar the steps of the Game became to her, she would never be able to deceive a spirit who had made a hobby of dwelling in people's minds.

"Cole," she sighed, gently taking the spirit's hands, "a person's mind can be like ... a forest. There are beautiful things like flowers and waterfalls, but there are also dangerous things that are hidden away in the shadows. Sometimes, the only way for the forest to keep existing is for it to forget the things that can hurt - to pretend that they aren't there. And when you walk through the forest and wake those hidden things, the forest starts hurting. Do you understand?"

"I didn't mean to make it hurt." She remembered what Solas had told them about Cole - a spirit of compassion, all too fragile, when its efforts to help proved to be in vain. If she could turn Cullen - proud, protecting, honest Cullen - into a man twisted by the lies he lived with, what could she do to a spirit like Cole?

"I know. Dagma promised me a new set of daggers forged from the fade-touched silverite we found in Emprise du Lion, do you think you could go and check on her progress for me?" She looked away, forcing her mind to empty.

"It was afraid of the red. The singing was not right - it is quieter here, being shaped, sharpened. She understands." He had vanished before Reina turned around, leaving only the faintest smell of - Reina furrowed her brows - turnips?

\--

Mother Giselle was already giving the benediction when Reina walked into the Great Hall - Iron Bull's unbowed head hovering irreverently over the sea of quietly meditating acolytes and templars. Cullen's seat was conspicuously empty.

"And Maker guide us as we rejoice in your light. Bless our words and our actions that they may bring glory to You."

"All things in His name," the voices of the diners answered as one before dispersing into fragments of conversations interrupted by polite greetings as Reina made her way through their ranks.

"'Ey! Over here now!" An unmistakable thick brogue drew Reina's attention to a slight, elfin girl dressed in mismatched tights who was waving a freckled arm frantically in her direction. "You's here late. And he's not here. Lover's spat, aye? Not all kisses and lovey-dovey in Paradise?" Sera devolved into smacking her lips to make kissing noises as Reina sat down at the long table heavy with freshly baked wheat bread and cold cuts.

"I'm sure the Commander has urgent business to attend to."

"Urgent business my arse. With Corphyfish dead and all that only urgent business is getting them," Sera swept a general glare over the acolytes that filled the Great Hall, "and their Fade tricks away from me." Reina laughed - with the establishment of the Circle of Skyhold, the libraries and studies of the fortress had gradually filled with eager arrivals, wizened senior enchanters and fresh-faced initiates alike. To say that Sera had not taken kindly to the transformation would have been to put it mildly - the wing of the fortress set aside to house the mages became the victim of an epidemic of ill-natured pranks and she had promptly declared that the tavern was off-limits to "all of that magic namby-pamby."

"I did issue a warning that any mage that values their breeches should avoid finding themselves in the tavern - or in your vicinity."

"Oh dear," Dorian widened his eyes in mock terror as he handed Reina a cup of tea, "I do wish I had gotten the message." He pretended to shift away from Sera while cowering in fear.

"Steal his, Sera. Dorian's breeches are all fine Tevinter silk - damnably easy to tear when you're in a hurry." A choking noise came from the Tevinter mage as he promptly spewed the contents of his teacup onto a plate of frilly petit fours.

"Maker's balls, Bull. Thank you for that mental picture," Varric dropped his fork with a clattering noise.

"I ... think I will go see if the Wardens have any orders." Pushing his chair back, Blackwall hastily retreated, his eyes carefully avoiding Dorian's flustered face and Iron Bull's smug grin. Reina eyed the piece of pheasant breast on her plate balefully, her appetite diminishing as suddenly as their numbers.

"Bull, you are quite the force of nature." The Tal-Vashoth laughed, the unbridled sound drowning out all of the other noise in the hall.

"Sorry, boss. Thought you could use some cheering up - you were looking a bit grim this morning."

"I just had some trouble sleeping. I hadn't expected to add 'trouble eating' to that list," Reina tilted her head as she massaged a knot at the back of her neck. Any progress she had made towards unraveling it was promptly undone when Iron Bull slammed a heavy palm against her back as he got up.

"It's all those damned meetings and sitting around in fancy dresses all day. You should let the Chargers and I take you out for some air, boss. Kill a few bandits, send some demons packing, maybe slay a dragon or two and you'll be put to rights in no time."

"Take me! Take me!" the entire table swayed with the force of Sera's enthusiasm, "You can't leave me behind in this pisscold castle with all them arses messing around with that magic."

It had been a long time since she had joined Bull or any of her friends in their travels - Reina had continued to send Bull and his Chargers, Sera, Varric, and even Blackwall with the Wardens on missions that were too vital or too difficult to entrust to the more experienced mages of her Circle or Cullen's reserve force, but she had limited her own journeys to purely diplomatic ones where the battles were hidden behind layers of etiquette and formality. The last time she had sat around a blazing campfire with her friends, sipping undiluted whiskey and rich cider ale, the flames of autumn had just barely touched the leaves of the watchful elms and oak trees of the Emerald Graves. There was merit to Bull's suggestion - even if the journey failed to cure Reina's insomnia, at least it would place her a safe distance away from Cole - and Cullen.

"I did receive a rather ... odd message two days ago." The unsigned message had been delivered by raven, as was convention, but the bird used had not been one from Skyhold's rookery and any attempts to trace its origin were thwarted by its death shortly after arrival. Whoever had sent the bird had fed it a sophisticated alchemical mixture of deathroot and vandal aria - the poison's spread through its system calculated accurately to mere seconds. Anonymous messages were fairly common, but the knowledge and skill necessary to distill the poison used was rare.

"Are you sure, it's not a straggling Venatori cell trying to lure you into a trap so they can avenge their lost dreams of Tevinter glory?"

"Dorian's right, boss. Sounds like a dirty Vint trap. No offense." The Tevinter mage smirked.

"None taken. We both know you happen to like it dirty -" Reina raised a hand to forestall them before the Tal-Vashoth could retort.

"If it were Venatori, I would have told you already Dorian." Despite the defeat of Corypheus, the Venatori had remained active in Orlais and Ferelden, searching for hidden magical artifacts and participating in complex assassination plots. Reina had often seen Dorian during her own sleepless nights as he sat in the library, Leliana's reports and maps of the Hissing Wastes and Forbidden Oasis spread out before him. Eventually, she had sent some of the more talented and blood-thirsty members of the Circle to him for mentorship; "The Hunters," as Bull had jokingly named them, became responsible for tracking the presence of the remaining Venatori and eliminating them whenever possible.

"Not Venatori, then who?" Dorian frowned, crossing his arms.

"As if I have a shortage of people who want me dead," Reina laughed, "I consulted Dagma - poisons aren't exactly her specialty, but the strange and bizarre are - and she said that the distillation process and calculations seem Dwarven."

"Varric know?" She could sense Bull's pending disapproval before she answered.

"No. He is not to be informed about any of this without my direct order." Bull and Dorian frowned, but Sera jumped up, knocking their table over in a crash of metal vessels and wood, and jabbed a finger at Reina, her furious accusations drawing the attention of the entire Hall.

"What? You suspect Varric? I knew you's gotten too much like them big people with their fancy masks and stupid word games to like. I knew it!" Reina could feel the eyes noisily observing the scene that Sera was causing through the dead silence of the Great Hall and a ghost of her headache throbbed between her eyes.

"Sera," she smiled at the rogue, the warmth of the expression failing to reach her eyes, "Sit. Down." There were rumors that the Herald of Andraste could bring a giant to its knees with her smile and tame a dragon with her fury - locking gazes with the uncowed elfin girl in front of her, Reina wondered if the rumors had greatly exaggerated her abilities or whether Sera's complete disregard for common sense simply made her more terrifying than giants and dragons combined. If anything, her veiled threat simply seemed to encourage the girl.

"What? If I don't do nicely as you say you going to think I'm a traitor too? Gonna lock me up in a cell with one of those Venatori? 'Hi nice to meet you. The bloody Inquisitor locked me up cause I don't do as she say anymore'?"

" _Sera_. Would you please _sit_." A thin layer of frost bloomed along the pillars and beams of the Great Hall as the temperature slowly dropped. Reina could hear the frightened scraping of chairs as the Hall emptied, leaving only the four of them.

"No one said anything about Varric being a suspect, Sera," Dorian tried to push the rogue back into her seat, but she stubbornly shrugged him away.

"Then why won't you tell him about the message?" There was the sound of a door swinging shut before Varric's voice echoed from the other end of the empty Hall,

"What message?"

Reina sighed and rested her forehead against the palm of her hand, the lingering coldness of her magic easing the pulsing pain that lanced across her temples.

"Well?" Sera's voice was insistent and slightly smug, as if she had just "stuck it to a big guy," and, for a moment, Reina was tempted to let Sera discover what it would mean for Red Jenny to become a discarded pawn in the Game. Nostalgia and genuine affection had stayed her hand whenever logic would have dictated otherwise, but security had given Sera an arrogance that made the girl more and more of a loose cannon.

"I had hoped to spare you this, Varric." The dwarf placed a gloved hand reassuringly on her back as he exhaled, a long suffering expression on his face.

"Give it to me straight, Cat. Was it one of my idiot cousins or some scum I did business with?"

"I wish it were that simple," Reina smiled, "Idiot cousins are quite easy to deal with - Maker knows I have plenty of my own. This - I'm not so certain what it is." She adjusted her shawl as she stood, glancing at the mess of the Great Hall.

"You gonna show us the message or what." There was still some lingering belligerence in Sera's tone, but Reina was relieved to see that she had calmed down.

" _Sera_ ," she raised her eyebrows, "Do you honestly believe that I keep random pieces of paper stashed about my person at all times?"

"The heroes in Varric's novels do it. Like they have bottomless pockets or some piss. I thought it was just a hero thing."

"My dear elf - ouch!" Dorian earned himself a sharp pinch for his choice of words, "Varric's novels are hardly reliable sources of information."

"What are you talking about, you Vint," Varric said with mock-affront, "I draw all of my stories and characters from reality. Why, just yesterday I was writing about this sneaky Tevinter mage who likes to be underneath things."

"Actually, he likes being on top. Riding the Bull, you know." There was the sound of incoherent spluttering as Dorian turned crimson. The uneasy tension that had thrown the growing divisions between the Inquisition into sharp relief had eased and Reina could almost pretend that nothing had changed since their victory over Corypheus.

"I will make arrangements for my absence from Skyhold. Find Cole and Blackwall and meet me in Josephine's study." Reina turned to leave the Great Hall, but Varric stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

"You should talk to him, Cat. Curly's not doing too well."

"Are any of us?" She gave the dwarf a sad half smile before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reina may or may not be a very likable character - it's perfectly okay to hate her - I wanted to play around with the idea of the living being walking casualties of war, inspired partly by remembered conversations with a former NYT war journalist who was on the ground during the Bosnian genocide. We spoke a lot about what it means to come back from war - how the experience can fundamentally change someone - and why so many soldiers and war journalists eventually die on the battlefield, how war itself can become an addiction, until peace becomes a pale reflection of life in a warzone. While I'm not planning on writing Reina as a character who becomes addicted to the rush of battle - that may be reserved for others later! - I do want to portray her as someone who changes because of the battles she faces, until, one day, she has the luxury to choose whether or not she wants to keep fighting and turns around to find herself a stranger.
> 
> There is also the idea that, as we live, even in a peaceful society, we grow up learning to say less and less of what we feel and how that changes us and our relationships with others. We begin to question other people's motivations and learn to keep our own intentions hidden, until wearing masks becomes so natural, we forget we are wearing them.
> 
> All of which makes this fic sound super serious and intense - which it isn't really (well maybe in content, but not in execution) - it's really just me, sitting here, playing around with an attempt at a resolution for the characters of the game!
> 
> I haven't written in a long time, so reviews/criticism would be awesome~


	2. The Chains of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the encouragement! Writing "A Winter's Tale" has been a lot of fun so far - the more I write, the more the plot seems to grow by itself in my mind - the hard part is finding the words for all of the details that I need to build what I have in mind. I apologize for the slow pace - there is a lot of catching up that the story needed (and still needs) to do before all of the actors and players are properly placed on the scene, and for every word I write, there are at least ten words I haven't written, but are officially headcanon-ed as something that has happened or is happening. 
> 
> Also, an apology to those who are here purely for the pleasures of the ship - I love the Cullen/Mage Trevelyan relationship - there's such a wealth of conflict and growth between the two characters and I am definitely here to write about that relationship, but I also don't believe that writing about a relationship by writing about a relationship ever does justice to the characters. It's a bit like how people in a real life relationship need to both exist within the context of their relationship, but also outside of it, as actors with presences and lives outside of their connection to each other. So my goal is to build the romance out through their involvement in the events of this fic and through the reflections of their relationship in the relationships of the people around them. Also, I don't write smut. I don't have anything against smut - I just don't write it (because I don't know how!) - so a lot of metaphor and glossing over and all that (I'm sorry - use your imaginations)
> 
> And now this author will stop rambling - comment response at the end! 
> 
> P.S. - Even hardened Cullen is still oblivious.

There were only a few solitary soldiers huddled under thick woolen blankets for their watch scattered across the battlements as Reina made her way to the tower that served as Cullen's office and chambers. Stray snowflakes still drifted from the clouded sky and the northern wind caught them in its passage, tangling them in Reina's hair, white flowers fading against her black braids. She rested a gloved hand against his door, listening to the sound of his sword shifting against his hips as he paced across the room, the even, measured steps betraying his templar discipline.

"Commander, may I come in?" At the sound of her voice, the pacing stopped and changed direction, moving towards the door. She should have been startled at the sight of him - she had been, the first time she had seen him without the armor of his self-control - but Reina had lost the right to feel surprise at the state of her commander. The shadows under Cullen's eyes had darkened since she had seen him in the morning and his usually carefully tamed hair curled recklessly across his forehead. He was still able to maintain his composure, but Reina had learned to recognize the signs of his withdrawal - from lyrium, and from her.

"Please." He stepped back to allow her access to his spartan office, the unheated room scarcely warmer than the battlements outside. Reina dusted a layer of snow from a corner of his desk and set down the tray of tea and bread she had brought with her, the contents long since gone cold from the wintry air.

"This place is a mess," she glanced up at the snow drifting through the still unfixed gap in his roof before coaxing flames from his unused fireplace, " _You_ are a mess." Cullen shifted to widen the space between them and folded his arms, gazing at her with bloodshot brown eyes.

"What do you want." Reina poured out a cup of tea, warming it with a spell, and handed it to him, sighing when he continued to watch her with folded arms.

"If I said you, would you believe me?" She let her green gaze meet his as she took a step towards him, until she could feel his warm breath ruffling the loose strands of hair that curled around her face. The conversations about who would take over her diplomatic responsibilities while she was away and the development of a reformed system of lyrium usage for their templars could wait - at this moment, Reina wanted, needed, to see him drop the mask of control, to see Cullen break beneath her words. A gauntleted hand grabbed her wrist, wrenching it upwards as the teacup shattered around her feet.

"Leave." The word was ground out through clenched teeth. She smiled.

"Make me." There was a growl as his lips met hers, exchanging words for a tangle of teeth and tongue, alternately beseeching and punishing, as if even Cullen couldn't decide whether he loved or hated her - or felt both in equal measures. Reina let her eyes drift closed as she inhaled the scent of him - the lingering notes of lyrium that would haunt him for the rest of his life, the sharp mountain air, and a combination of steel and sunlight that was unmistakeably Cullen. She wondered if he knew that the burning need was mutual - she doubted it, Cullen always, inevitably underestimated his own power.

"Maker," he cursed as he pulled away, dropping her wrist as if it were a poisonous snake, "I'm sorry. I -" Self-loathing filled his voice as he saw the purple bruising blooming against her pale skin. Reina poured out another cup of tea and handed it to him with a smile.

"I should apologize for intruding upon your time."

"Reina." The guard dropped from his voice as Cullen took the proferred cup from her hand. He had always been inept at Wicked Grace, her golden commander. She broke a piece from the loaf of bread and handed it to him.

"I know I can be infuriating, but you shouldn't skip meals because you're angry at me." He took a bite from the bread before setting it on his desk beside the cup of tea, placing a hesitant hand on hers.

"You came for this?" Reina smiled fondly at him and brushed some stray crumbs from his cheek.

"Of course." _Among other things._ There was a warmth in his eyes that she saw less and less frequently and Reina wished it had been for her, rather than a ghost that had died bringing peace to Thedas.

"By the Maker, Reina. I'm so sorry," there was a thickness to Cullen's voice, as if he were swallowing back tears, "I don't know what came over me. After this morning, I thought - You seemed - Please forgive me." He ran a hand gently along her bruised wrist, guilt hanging heavily over his form.

"There is nothing to forgive," Reina took his other hand gently, her own guilt carefully hidden away, "You are right. We are none of us the people we once were." Cullen sighed as he turned her hand over in his, tracing circles across her palm with his thumb.

"I had hoped that after everything, you would be freed from the burdens we had forced upon you. Instead, they seem to have multiplied."

"Such is the life of a hero," she smiled, remembering how he had listened to her fears as they watched the sparring soldiers in Haven's training fields, "Have we had any word of Hawke since she left for Weisshaupt?"

"No. We haven't heard any word from Weisshaupt, period." Sighing, Reina massaged her temples, leaning back against Cullen's cluttered desk. After everything they had sacrificed to save it, the world seemed intent on falling apart all the same, as if some natural order of the universe dictated a constant decline into chaos.

"I am going to the Storm Coast to follow up on that message from two days ago. If any news arrives from Weisshaupt, or Hawke, or King Alistair, or ..." _Solas_. She broke off, the last name too heavy with absence to be spoken. There was a rustling of parchment and quills as Cullen cleared a space on his desk, spreading a map of the Storm Coast in front of him.

"You're walking straight into a trap," his brows furrowed as he surveyed the map, "Let me send some of the templars with Bull's Chargers instead. Or we can have Leliana's scouts investigate."

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions. If it is a trap," Reina tapped her fingers against the symbol on the map that marked the entrance to an ancient Dwarven ruin sick with red lyrium, "all the more reason for me to go. We need to know who these Dwarven conspirators are and why they want me dead. It will almost be like old times." She saw Cullen mentally calculating the Inquisition's military presence along the Storm Coast, preparing contingency plans and rescue missions. They spent the next hour wrestling with the minutiae of their responsibilities - Reina and Cullen forgotten once more for the Lady Inquisitor and her Commander. With Josephine's departure for Antiva, a brief visit to settle some "family matters" that had dragged on and on until it became a permanent absence, there was a diplomatic vacuum in the Inquisition that Reina had filled. Perhaps, Reina suggested, they could request a formal ambassador from Empress Celene? Cullen balked at the idea - nobles, particularly Orlesian nobles chosen by the Empress, were not to be trusted - they should request a Chancellor from the Chantry instead. Cullen and Leliana would have to oversee the Inquisition's diplomatic relations then, Reina had decided, she would send for a lesser cousin from the Free Marches, someone whose weaknesses she clearly grasped, to take on the official ambassador role, but be no more than a glorified pusher of papers.

"Of course I trust the Chantry," she explained when Cullen protested her decision, defending the loyalty and friendship of Divine Victoria, "but closer ties to it would hardly benefit the Inquisition. Many already see us as an upstart religious force that has served our purpose and should be disbanded, but I have no desire to follow the footsteps of the Wardens - to save the world and then be forgotten by it."

"Can we trust your cousin?" Cullen asked, already searching through the stacks of papers for the next report, an update on the Skyhold Circle's templars and their lyrium usage.

"Well," Reina laughed, the low humming sound she reserved for the discussion of the errant Trevelyan family tree, "calling Adrian a cousin would be quite the scandal. He was baseborn, you know. His mother was a mistress, some Orlesian whore my uncle had brought back with him on a business trip, so he is officially known as my uncle's protegé." Her voice softened, this much pain she could share - memories faded enough for words, "Even so, the Trevelyans are more his family than they are mine. I don't believe one ever truly comes to trust parents that would turn their own child away to be hunted as an apostate - not to mention a family that is as quick to cling to the skirts of your glory as they were to forswear you before."

"That is ever the way of the nobility. I hope that knowing that there are those of us, here, who would never betray you - I hope that is enough." _I would never betray you._ Reina heard the unspoken sentence behind Cullen's words and she smiled, amused by his naiveté. Every man had a price; some men, like Cullen, simply had yet to find theirs and thus deluded themselves into believing they didn't have one - Maferath, too, must have once believed that he would never leave his lover's side.

"It is as well - lack of illusions allows for clarity. If my sister's letters are to be believed, Adrian is quite charming - it must be that accursed Orlesian blood - and eager for an opportunity to remove himself from the shadow of his birth. More importantly," Reina's lips curved into a smirk, "he has a weakness for _younger_ men that would be devastating if it were ever to become public knowledge."

"Maker's breath, Reina. You are going to blackmail your own family?" The darkness was seeping back into Cullen's voice, as it always did whenever she reminded him that the woman standing before him was a dangerous stranger, not the terrified, kind-hearted young girl he had held in his arms outside of Haven's walls. She knew that, as much as he hated her for becoming who she had become, he hated himself, for being complicit in the process - hated the Inquisition and the Chantry and even Hawke, for not being there to take Reina's place.

"Think of it as encouragement," she changed the subject, wanting to maintain the uneasy pretense for at least a little longer, "What worries me most are our templars. I don't know if this makes us any better than ... using our men for these experiments."

"Better than Samson," Cullen bit out the name with a growl, which faded into a regret-filled sigh, "You don't need to worry - Adan can be a little ... zealous, but underneath it all, he does care about the men. It's actually done wonders for the Circle, I hear, having magi researchers working with the templars on the solution." Reina remembered Samson - his eyes half-crazed with his fanaticism, the corruption of the red lyrium slowed, but not weakened - a cruel joke of the templar she had secretly built in the Fade, piecing him together using Cullen's tortured memories. It was hard to remember why she had cared so much then, diligently remembering each casualty, each victim of Corypheus' corruption that she had failed to save, each decent man or woman who had died for her cause. A form of twisted masochism, she supposed, punishing herself until it had simply stopped hurting.

"Samson had also wanted to stop templars from being victimized by their lyrium usage," she sighed, "How do we know our solution is any better than his?"

"Well we're not using blighted red lyrium for a start."

"Excellent choice of words, Commander." Reina laughed - moments like this were like an amnesiac's glimpses into the past, fleeting and precious, leaving only the lingering sense of something important that had been lost again.

"Fully intentional, I assure you." A knock on the door shattered the instant, all of the unanswered questions and half truths filling the space between them again.

"Knight-Commander, ser," Knight-Captain Lysette stepped into the office and saluted, "Lady Inquisitor," she saluted again, her gauntlet crashing briskly against the chest of her armor, "I have a report here from the Hessarians. Dragon activity on the Coast, ser." It had been unorthodox - to have a man who had left the templar order serve as the Knight-Commander of a Circle - but Corypheus' influence had reached almost every commanding officer of the templars and there were few voices of dissent when Reina named Cullen to the position he had trained for since he was only thirteen. In his lifetime, he had been witness to both the best and the worst that mages and templars could offer, and, for all of their differences and secret scars, he was the only man Reina could trust with the execution of the reforms that he had helped inspire.

"This can't be a coincidence." Cullen took the report from Lysette's outstretched hand and dismissed her.

"And the plot thickens," Reina smiled, "I am going to debrief the others on our mission in Josephine's study, perhaps one of them can provide some better insight into what we are walking into."

"You told Varric?"

"Sera didn't exactly ... leave me with a choice." There was something to be said for the rogue's erratic behavior and complete refusal to operate along ordinary channels of logic - Sera alone was still able to frequently surprise Reina into a checkmate, curtailing Reina's options with her own disregard for convention.

"Does he know about your suspicions?" Reina shook her head.

"Not yet, but he's bound to guess. Varric doesn't ... have many blind spots." Namely one. _Bianca_.

\--

Josephine's study had always felt like the warmest place in the entire castle - not only because the Antivan's aversion to the winter chill meant that her fireplace was always kept pleasantly dancing with flames - but also because the woman seemed to fill any place she occupied with her warm personality. More than Reina, or Leliana, or even Blackwall, perhaps those with the fondest memories of the ambassador were the "small people," the scouts that frequented the taverns, the surgeons who toiled in the courtyards. While Vivienne had awed them with her presence and charisma, it was Josephine who had won their hearts - always finding the time to ask after their days, or send a basket of fruit as a thank you for a successful mission. "She's so lovely," Scout Harding had breathed to Reina once, her clever dwarven fingers clasped in admiration.

By default, the space had become Reina's office, the War Room too heavy and burdened with memories for continued use. She hadn't found the heart to change any of the study's furnishings - the armchairs were still tilted, just so, to face the fireplace, and the Antivan tapestries still hanging from the stone walls - but Josephine's presence faded day after day, the study growing colder like every other corner of Skyhold. She missed the other woman, the letters she and Leliana sent almost daily a poor replacement for the intimacy of shared meals and conversation, but Reina couldn't blame Josephine for her continued absence. When the Inquisition needed her, Josephine had put their interests above all else, subordinating the needs of the Montilyet family and Antiva to the demands of her duty to the Inquisition. Now, Josephine's primary loyalty was to her family, which included the acceptance of a match that would elevate the Montilyet interests both within Antiva and without.

The invitations had arrived shortly after the letter - gushing, girlish delight curling across the page in Josephine's lovely handwriting - and Reina had found Blackwall in the stables, his face impassive behind the handsome, dark beard as he curried the coat of the sweet-tempered sorrel mare that Josephine had ridden during her time at Skyhold.

"Good for her," he had grunted, watching as the mare delicately took a sugar cube from his hand, "Hope he's a nice lad and treats her as he ought." But this was Josie, Reina had thought, Josie deserved more than that. Josephine, at least, deserved the genuine happiness that Reina had left behind her in the Fade. If only Blackwall - no, Thom - had spoken, had given substance to his intentions, Reina would have willingly sacrificed expediency for sentiment that one time. She could have offered him a new identity built from the power of the Inquisition - power and status sufficient to satisfy the demands of Josephine's position as the head of the Montilyets. Not for Blackwall, who had betrayed her, but for Josephine, who deserved a choice. But the silent, haunted man had refused to give Reina the pretext she needed, and the opportunity had passed. That night, she had dreamed of a solitary Warden, weakened and disfigured by his taint, sitting before the wavering flame of his lonely fire, keeping the fear and darkness of the Deep Roads at bay with the memory of a smile from a sunny northern land. When Reina awoke, she had found her blankets wet with tears, and she had sat there, huddled on Solas' scaffolding, and let herself weep, honesty finding her in the solitude and privacy of the night.

Blackwall was there with the others as Reina entered the study, Cullen looking grim, his years showing in the lines along his face, as he followed behind her. She handed them the note, wedged carefully between the pages of a heavy tome on Dwarven alchemy, and her friends passed it around, puzzling over its contents.

"There is water within the Stone that sings. Find me at the place where storms harbor and fire sleeps on the waves. Time is running out!" Varric read aloud, "What happened to a simple 'Help me, I'm in trouble twenty leagues to the north of Some Village'?"

"Maybe it's a bard called Stone that has to take a piss but is too drunk off its arse to find the outhouse," Sera snickered, "Water within the singing Stone, yeah?" She mimed a drunk clutching his penis, screaming "Time is running out!" as she fake-stumbled around the room.

"We believe that the place indicated by the message is Daerwin's Mouth along the Storm Coast," Cullen unfurled the map he had brought from his office as Leliana walked into the study, her quiet footsteps bringing her to Reina's side.

"Singing stone could be referring to lyrium," Varric nodded, "And that place is filled with the red stuff."

"It is almost certainly the location. I reached out to the Dwarven thaigs - they weren't ... cooperative, but there were whispers of something, or _someone_ , going missing near the Storm Coast." Leliana handed Reina a report which she glanced over quickly before passing it to Cullen. The dwarves of Orzammar were notorious in their secrecy, jealously guarding both their knowledge and troubles from the surface world. For even rumors of something amiss to have reached the surface, whatever had happened would have been severe enough to endanger the very foundations of the empire.

"Are they aware of this message?" For all of their secrecy, the dwarves had no taste for the subterfuge and half-lies of surface politics. If the Inquisition wanted the cooperation of Orzammar, it would have to show its hand. Leliana nodded.

"They refused to say anything more, though our more ... anonymous agents are still listening, but they will send an emissary to the Coast to meet the Inquisition's representatives."

"Great. It will be one glorious reunion. My family's not exactly ... popular underneath the surface, y'know." Varric sighed as he folded his arms, leaning back into the armchair.

"You can remain at Skyhold, Varric," Reina offered. She was as reluctant to have Varric with her as he was to become involved - Dagma had specified that the poison used bore the traces of the alchemical traditions used by _surface_ dwarves and Reina doubted that the Carta possessed the requisite sophistication and knowledge.

"No, Cat. This whole pile of shit reeks of dwarven business and I am, as much as I hate to admit it sometimes, still a dwarf."

"At least you aren't part Tevinter," Reina joked, the magical ancestry of her family a constant source of contention for the more conservative forces in Orlais and Ferelden. A faked gasp of shock came from Dorian as he chastised her with his best magisterial impression,

"You should take pride in your glorious heritage, Inquisitor. It is all that keeps you from succumbing to the mediocrity of these plebeians."

The conversation had been subsumed by the preparations for their departure, discussions about who should accompany Reina and who should remain behind at Skyhold, the securing of provisions for the journey, the maintenance of communication channels should events spiral beyond their predictions. Sera could not be trusted at Skyhold without Reina's supervision, and it would have been cruel to leave her behind in a home that was filled with the magic that terrified her. Varric, as much as Reina wished she could deny him involvement, had a right to be present, and Bull and his Chargers knew the Storm Coast better than anyone else in their party. She had drawn the line at Dorian - with her absence, the Circle needed the leadership of a more experienced mage that Reina could trust, even if he was a Tevinter - Cullen alone could not fill the responsibilities of the dual roles of Knight-Commander and Grand-Enchanter.

"Disappointing, but expected," the Tevinter had responded, accepting her decision, "I do hope you won't perish from boredom without my scintillating presence."

"And deny the Marquis de Chevin the pleasure? Never." It was little secret that the Marquis despised the Inquisition's influence over the Orlesian throne - an influence that he had once coveted for himself through his support of Empress Celene. His complicity was suspected in half a dozen assassination attempts, but, true to his mastery of the Game, it could never be proven beyond evidence that was purely circumstantial.

\--

Cullen came to her that night to send her off on her journey, as he used to before the defeat of Corypheus. It was nostalgic, the Veil thinning as he tapped quietly on her door and they fell into her bed, their bodies easily seeking and finding old rhythms, old roads that were well-traveled and never quite forgotten. It was the heady allure of the unknown, of danger sensed but not quite seen, hidden behind the horizon, the intimate knowledge that farewell could be forever. It was an illusion, but they both clung to it, pretending to sleep as they lay side by side, staring wide-eyed into the darkness of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Sylversmith: Thank you! One of my biggest stresses has been trying to keep everyone in character (so you'll notice Blackwall hardly does any talking so far - I can't seem to get him quite right in my head). Ironically, Sera, who I confess I hated and never talked to while playing the game, seems to be the easiest (or at least I hope I'm getting her right), whereas Cullen has me banging my head against the wall. 
> 
> I definitely wanted a more dysfunctional relationship between the two of them - yes, they do care about each other, but there's also so much resentment and inability to open up (so much luggage, gosh!) that they can't seem to be together without hating each other at the same time. So it's a case of wavering between pretending nothing changed/happened, one person (oh Cullen) trying to open doors the other person still doesn't want anyone to walk through, and wanting to give up on each other. 
> 
> \--
> 
> The plot will hopefully pick up from this point forwards (though I have a thing for heavy, dragging prose, I'm sorry) with more action and less dialogue (I actually hate writing dialogue, it's stressful and I hate it), but it's hard to tell until I put type to screen. Please comment and critique~


	3. The Harbor of Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today~ hopefully longer tomorrow.
> 
> The Hawke I use is based off of HeroMaggie's character in [**The Griffon and the Hawk**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1774873)
> 
> No signs of Cullen to be found - many apologies! Instead, please have a missing Paragon, a reasonable amount of violence, and more exposition (I suck, I'm sorry). Any names that may coincide with player characters in the series are purely due to my frustration with naming conventions and need for an easy alternative. (May~ not be the case with all coincidences of naming in the future, but spoilers!)
> 
> Please enjoy and review! I really love receiving comments - even flames - since they help me identify areas for improvement as the story progresses.

The fog was rising from the coast when Reina and her companions rode into camp - a salty wetness that clung to their skin and their hair, turning them into creatures of the sea. It had been a long time since she had last stood witness to the Dwarven ruins that guarded the rocky hills and beaches, and they had, yet again, taken her breath away with their looming impassivity, stone-hewn sentinels watching the tumultuous waves with sleepless eyes. The fresh ruins of a Qunari dreadnought had been tossed ashore, the wooden skeleton of the boat stripped and stained by the furious appetite of the sea, and Reina had heard Bull's sigh as they passed it - a reminder that he was as lost as she was, a Qunari denied his place in the Qun, a Tal-Vashoth cursed by his own people.

Many of the faces that greeted them were familiar - scouts who had risked their lives time and time again for the Inquisition, venturing into uncharted wildernesses to clear the way, wasting their days away in the most distant reaches of Thedas so that they could serve as Reina's eyes and ears, spreading the Inquisition's web of influence over every mountain and through every valley. Scout Harding updated Reina on the state of the Storm Coast as she led the way through the camp, informing the Inquisitor about the latest sightings of the dragon from the Hessarian reports, the mountain paths that had been rendered unusable by the winter storms, and the presence of bandits in the forests.

"And may I present Lady Sereda of House Aeducan, an emissary from the empire of Orzammar," Harding stepped aside to reveal a fair haired dwarven woman, her broad shoulders and muscled arms clad in sensible dwarven armor bearing the image of a bearded king. The civilities had been perfunctory, almost curt, and a veneer of scorn had passed across the emissary's face as she was introduced to Varric. Behind her polite words, there was an edge of anger, as if she found it difficult to forgive the Inquisition's intrusion into dwarven affairs, regardless of the necessity or expediency.

"We seek our Paragon, Malika," she told them, her voice surprisingly filled with music, but volunteered no further information, simply offering to accompany the Inquisiton to Daerwin's Mouth and provide what aid in arms she could provide. Reina longed to linger at the camp, to sit along the jutting cliff and feel the spray of the sea mist over her as its waves shattered themselves on the cliff's rocky face. Bull had been right - she had needed time and distance away from the battles of Skyhold - there was honesty, at least, in death, and the dreams that haunted her were eased by the thoughtless rhythm of battle. Time was not a luxury they could afford, however. Time, Reina felt, was never quite on the side of mortals, hapless bits of debris caught up by its unyielding stream. They exchanged their tired horses for mules, slower but steadier passage along the uneven paths of the Storm Coast, and filled their saddlebags with fresh provisions, riding away from the camp within the hour.

Sereda's presence brought discomfort to the easy banter that had always defined the Inquisition's travels - even the irreverent Chargers were quieter, silently signalling their awareness of the dwarven woman who rode alongside them, her masterfully crafted greatsword a testament to her strength in arms. The path along the coast was treacherous, riddled with loose boulders and steep descents coated in slippery mountain moss, and the small party focused on their ride, only exhanging terse words to warn each other about a difficult turn or uneven footing. The sound of shouting reached their ears as they reached the gravely beaches that had been below them, and they shifted into the practiced alertness that came with walking away, alive, from countless battles and ambushes. A man's figure came into sight, his bandit's armor rattling as he ran towards them with a drawn blade, and Reina heard a twang before he collapsed, one of Sera's arrows sprouting from his throat. The figures behind him paused, eyeing their fallen comrade and the small party before them nervously, before they seemed to reach an unspoken consensus and charged at Reina and her companions with a disjointed battle cry.

For all of Sereda's taciturn nature, she was unbelievably eloquent with a blade, leaping into battle and wielding her heavy sword gracefully, as if she were performing a dance, not hewing limbs from their owners' bodies. Reina fought at the dwarven woman's back, parrying away the bandits' blows with her magical blade and slowing their movements with ice spells. The battle was bloody, but quick, except for a scratch that Krem had taken in a moment's carelessness, their party was unhurt and the corpses of the bandits lay strewn along the beach.

"Something feels off, boss," Bull frowned as he nudged a corpse with his foot, turning it on its back, "Bandits won't usually attack armed travelers even when they outnumber them." As he spoke, the ground beneath them tremored, causing the mules to emit bays of fright as Dalish tried to steady them, whispering elvish consolations in their ears.

"Unless they weren't running towards us, but running away from something else." Reina had almost missed not being able to predict the inevitable chain of events, the exhilarating thrill of never quite knowing what to expect around the corner. She ordered the Chargers to remain behind, watching over the animals and guarding their retreat, as the rest of the party proceeded on foot, staggering from the periodic tremors that shook the ground. As they passed through a crumbling archway, the ground swayed beneath their feet, causing Reina to stumble forwards, gasping as the coastline opened before her eyes.

She had witnessed power before - the shriek of the blighted dragon that had accompanied Corypheus still echoed in her nightmares - but she had never witnessed raw, natural power like this - unfettered and unguided by the ambitions of men. A furlong away, a giant blocked their passage along the coast, its stature rendering the mountainous hills behind it miniscule. They had fought and slain giants before - the barbaric tribes littering the Emerald Graves - but those had been lesser descendants of the creature that stood before them, as the kittens of Skyhold's kitchens would compare to the presence of a lion. The party watched, awe-struck, as the giant's muscled shoulders heaved, cleaving a piece of the mountainside to launch at a winged lizard screeching electric flames that set the sea ablaze.

"I must be dreaming, boss," Bull whispered in reverent tones, "This is a good day." His words seemed to shake them into awareness, and Reina felt the familiar rush of battle singing in her veins.

"Bull, I want you and Sereda on the dragon. Try to draw its attention away from us, while we work on bringing the giant down. Varric, Sera find higher ground and, for Maker's sake, aim for the same knee."

"Sure thing, boss," Bull responded before charging down the beach with a roar, Sereda following closely behind. Reina saw Sera make a face at Varric before the two rogues were off, scrabbling along the rocky cliff face as they searched for a better vantage point. With a shriek, the dragon swerved to face Bull and Sereda, knocking the dwarven warrior back with a swipe of its armored tail. Focusing her mind on the Veil around her, Reina stepped through the Fade, feeling the familiar tingling as the Veil closed and then opened around her, instinctively casting a barrier spell as she reappeared behind the giant, her summoned blade humming in her hands. She heard the dragon's furious cries behind her as Bull and Sereda danced around it, drawing and dodging its fiery breath. The giant had forgotten its opponent and scanned the cliff face instead, searching for the source of the arrows that embedded themselves in its left knee, Sera's trademark poison causing the blood from its wounds to run in foul-smelling black rivulets along the thick skin of its legs. Taking a deep breath, Reina pierced the leg with her blade, feeling her magic slice into the flesh, before opening the Fade to shift herself back, avoiding the giant's grasping hands. It wasn't long before the rhythm of combat engulfed her, her movements fluid as she easily transitioned from casting defensive barriers to spells that poured ice into the giant's bones, slowing its movements and causing its breathing to become increasingly labored as Varric and Sera continued to assault it with arrows.

Bull and Sereda, however, were flagging, their movements losing their initial agility. The magical barriers Reina had cast on them were depleting with alarming speed as the dragon's claws found its mark and tore into Sereda's back, causing the dwarf to scream in pain.

"Boss, we could use some help!" Bull shouted over the dragon's furious cries. Reina's eyes scanned the cliffs as she barely dodged an errant swipe of the dragon's tail, her eyes finding Varric's. He nodded reassuringly, nocking an arrow and taking aim at the giant's knee, the joint rupturing under the final blow and causing the giant to crash to the ground with a roar of pain. Without a second thought, Reina whirled to face the dragon, quenching the flames that surrounded it through a twist of the Fade. She shifted into position as Bull drew back, letting her shield of spiritual power take the brunt of the dragon's blow, stumbling slightly at the force. Ice climbed up the dragon's claws, following the paths laid out by Reina's mind, but the beast shattered it as it leaped forwards, catching Reina's shoulder as she hastily dodged. She heard her own hoarse cry of pain as the sticky warmth of blood soaked through her armor and she fell back, pushing the dragon away with a burst of magic that left the beast temporarily stunned.

Varric and Sera were finished with the giant, the fletching of an arrow visible in the bloody mess of the corpse's eye, and quickly switched targets, their arrows tearing into the more delicate webbing of the dragon's wings. As the beast shook off its stupor, Sereda barrelled into its legs, her blows weakened by the bleeding gashes on her back, but providing enough time for Reina to gather her focus and reach for the Fade, gathering the magical energy into a flurry of ice that embedded itself into the dragon's hide, causing it to emit a shriek of pain. With a roar, Iron Bull cleaved his axe through the creature's neck, blood and bone spraying along its path, and the dragon's body flailed once before it was still.

The taste of the dragon's blood was sharp, heavy with age and power as Reina wiped away the dark red liquid that had been sprayed across her face. She could feel the exhaustion of drained magic settling into her bones, and stumbled slightly as she collapsed onto a protrusion along the face of the cliff.

"That was crazy," Sera's voice was shaking as she salvaged her arrows from the corpses, "Not Corphyfish crazy. The good kind of crazy." At Sera's mispronunciation of the defeated magister's name, Reina started laughing, the genuine mirth that came from a blissfully empty mind, and she was soon joined by Iron Bull and Varric, the sound of their amusement echoing along the beach. Even Sereda let a smile crack itself upon her face, mistrust and conflicting interests forgotten in the camaraderie of escape from danger. The blood on the beach had mingled with the waves, dying the white crested ripples a shade of crimson, almost as if it were a ghost of the dragon's flames.

"Fire sleeps on the waves," Reina murmured, realization dawning upon her, "I don't think this was a coincidence."

"Then the Paragon must be close!" Sereda exclaimed, struggling to her feet with a groan of pain.

"I'm afraid the Paragon will have to wait." The magic was slowly ebbing back into Reina's body, pushing away the peculiar helplessness that she always felt without its presence. All of them had taken injuries in the battle - blistering burns were beginning to emit pus along Bull's back, mingling with the blood from scratches by the dragon's scales, Sera winced as she limped along with her sprained ankle, and even Varric was bleeding from a nasty gash along his forehead. They would need healing and rest before they could risk venturing into an almost certain trap.

"Unacceptable," there was steel in the dwarven woman's eyes, "The Paragon cannot wait. This is not for you to decide, surface-dweller." The last words were uttered with a harshness that turned them into a curse. Reina took a deep breath as she reached a hand over the torn flesh of her shoulder, using her magic to ease the bleeding and knit some of the muscle back together.

"I would never presume to give an order to an emissary of Orzammar, my lady," she smiled, the polite, unreadable expression that she reserved for unreasonable foreign dignitaries, "However, I do believe that the members of the Inquisition are under my command. You are free to search for your Paragon wherever you see fit, though I must warn you, my lady - many men wander into these caverns and hills and never return." The fight drained from Sereda's face and she sat back down sullenly, allowing Reina to examine the deep valleys of ribboned muscle and skin where the dragon's claws had torn into her back.

Memories of Hawke flitted across Reina's mind as she eased her magic into her companions' wounds, searching for the severed threads and untangling them, reconnecting them with the Fade. She had known the older mage only briefly, but, like everyone else who crossed Marian's path, Reina had been drawn in by the charisma that radiated from the Champion of Kirkwall in spite of the hero's fumbling words and awkward laughter. The charming girlishness of the mage had been a surprise - the Hawke that strode across the pages of Varric's novel had been larger than life, a stern hero from ancient legends - and Reina often found herself wondering how she had held onto her honesty in the face of what she had become. Hawke had been blunt, almost rude, in her disagreement with Reina's support of the Circles, telling the younger mage that Reina reminded her of an elven slave girl the Champion had once rescued from her Tevinter mistress - a slave who had come to love and long for her bonds. It had been difficult for Reina to listen to Hawke's stories about Anders, to allow the other mage's words to humanize the monster she had hated for destroying her home and turning her into an apostate, but their passage through the Fade had made her grateful for the abomination's influence in Hawke's life. It was Anders who had turned Hawke into a prodigy at healing spells, an ability that had kept Reina alive after Nightmare had nearly torn her body asunder, and an ability that Reina wished she had been able to learn from the older woman before her departure for Weisshaupt.

The lack of news out of Weisshaupt was unsettling. King Alistair had told the Inquisition about Queen Solona's quest, the legendary Hero of Ferelden's refusal to live out her years until the darkness in her blood eventually overwhelmed her, but there had been no sign of the Hero since the Battle of Adamant and, with each passing season, Reina's fears that the disappearance of Hawke, the silence out of Weisshaupt, and the continued absence of the Queen were inextricably linked grew more and more concrete - the events seeming like fragmented warnings of a terrible trial that would soon threaten the fragile peace. A dark panic flickered across Reina's chest as she treated Bull's burns, causing her breath to catch as green light licked along the edges of her vision.

"You okay, boss?" the Tal-Vashoth asked, peeking at her over his broad, sinewy shoulders. Reina forced herself to focus, pushing back against the visions from the Fade that clamored along the walls of her mind. It had been too long since she had seen genuine combat, since she had allowed her magic to drain in such quick succession, and the exertion had weakened her control over the Fade, allowing it to bleed into her waking mind and feed on the nightmares that festered there.

"Slightly drained, that is all," she smiled, wrapping a bandage around the Qunari's scabbing burns, "We should reunite with the Chargers and make camp for the night."

An evening chill had woven itself into the ocean mist by the time they returned to the waiting Chargers, opened casks of ale littered amongst the makeshift tents they had hammered into the rocky beach. The mules had calmed after the battle had ended and were peacefully grazing on spindleweed as they wandered along the coastline - even Sereda had relaxed slightly during their journey back, begrudgingly admitting that their search for the Paragon could wait until the next morning. There was a nostalgic intimacy to the moment, the warmth of the fire as it cast alternating masks of shadow and light on Iron Bull's face as he recounted their battle, interrupted by the raucous cheers of the Chargers and artistic corrections from Varric, and Reina felt gratitude for this brief relief from the emptiness of Skyhold, from the reality of what she had become. She listened to the steady crashing of the waves as her companions drifted to sleep, feeling the nightmares of the past and the terrors of the future closing in around her, and wondered if this world was truly worth saving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the dragon and giant fight actually occurs much earlier in the Inquisition storyline, so this isn't strictly canonical, but I've always wanted to write about it so~


	4. A Dark Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death. People - good people - die.
> 
> Still no Cullen, but he will show up soon, I promise.

On the third day of their journey along the mist-wrapped shores of the Storm Coast, the entrance to Daerwin's Mouth appeared before the small party, the inconspicuous doors hewn into the face of the stony cliff belying the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers that snaked beneath their feet. A winter storm had overtaken them and they huddled against the face of the cliffs, cloaks drawn against the icy rain that battered their faces and bodies.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Cat," Varric frowned, "You know this place is a maze - we barely made it out the last time we were down there." There was a scoffing noise and Sereda marched up the stone steps with a determined stride.

"That is because you have lost your stone sense, surface dweller. Open the door - the Paragon awaits."

The painted emblem of the Red Templars that lent a grisly distinction to the cliff walls grinned at Reina through its fading blindfold of red paint as she found the unadorned metal key, weighing it in her hands. There were too many unconnected knots to their quest. The Storm Coast had never been known to be the home of giants or dragons, yet both had appeared before them. And the giant - Reina's mind lingered on the appearance of the creature they had fought - she had always assumed that the statues that had been hewn into the cliffs and mountainside of the Storm Coast were memorials to the fading glory of the Dwarven empire that had once spanned the entire continent of Thedas. But there had been an unmistakeable likeness, in both scale and appearance, between the crumbling stone visages and the creature they had felled.

"It is rare for the dwarves of Orzammar to travel to the surface," she gazed directly at Sereda, locking the dwarf with her piercing green eyes, "We are indeed blessed to have the boon of your assistance."

"I am not here to aid you in your petty plots, Inquisitor. I simply seek one who has been lost to us. Now open the doors." Even the beating of the driving rain on the gray stone seemed to dim as the two women watched each other.

"Our goals are aligned then. It is a great honor to receive a request for assistance from a living Paragon, especially one who has ventured willingly to the surface." The lines around Sereda's gray eyes hardened and her hands grasped a warning around the hilt of her sword.

"Speak plainly human." Reina made her way up the stone steps until she stood before the dwarf, letting the power of her magic run in shimmering waves across her body.

"Very well. What awaits us behind those doors? Why do your people desire the involvement of the Inquisition?" The gaze of the other woman was stony.

"You know as well as I that we were not the ones to involve your people." Reina tilted her head in acknowledgement of the truth of the statement.

"Yet someone does. Someone who knows the truth behind your missing Paragon. You do not trust me and I do not require your trust. However, it is little matter to me whether or not I see a resolution of the mystery behind these doors - there are many who desire my life and it is of minimal interest to me whether a few more have decided to join their ranks. On the other hand," she smiled, seeing the wavering doubt behind Sereda's eyes, "I believe I am correct in assuming that this is a mission of survival for your people." There was a pause, made poignant by the sounds of the waves and the rain. Sereda let out a long breath, her shoulders falling, and released her grip on her sword.

"Paragon Malika sought an artifact of our past, an ancient power that would allow us to reclaim our Roads from the disease that corrupts them." Varric whistled.

"The Anvil? Andraste's Tits, I thought that was destroyed during the last Blight." Sereda shook her head.

"No. What the Paragon sought would have made the Anvil seem like a newly crafted toy intended for a callow child. The texts she consulted were ancient - yet even they only hinted at her goal through veiled references to fading memories. Beyond that, even I do not know." The tangles began to shift in Reina's mind, unraveling and weaving themselves into an image that wavered, just beyond her view. The Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, the Herald of Andraste - and the singing darkness beneath their feet - she shuddered and closed her mind to the whispering fears.

"And you do not know who it is that seeks to involve the Inquisition in this search?" The key slid into the lock and turned it with a click. Sereda was the first to step into the gloom of the mines.

"We lost contact with the Paragon soon after she left Orzammar. All we know is that she mentioned help - surface help - and the Merchant's Guild." A dull thud echoed along the cavernous corridor as Varric slammed his armored fist against the stone walls.

"Ah shit."

An uneasy silence followed the party as they felt their way along the shadows of the corridor, aided only by the wavering blaze of veilfire that Reina cupped in her hands. Greeted by a dank underground breeze, they were soon swallowed by a great hall hewn from solid stone, the crumbling facades illuminated by the pulsating red light of the sickened lyrium that grew from its crevices. The fetid stench of decay mingled with the unnatural heat of the crystalline structures and Reina recognized the unclaimed corpses of the corrupted templars that they had slain in their previous visit - red lyrium growing like a parasite from their half-gnawed flesh.

"Sod it all I'm going to be sick." The remnants of Sera's morning meal were heaved onto the floor. There was a paleness to all of their faces, even Sereda's, as they carefully made their way down the collapsing steps, listening for the distinctive scratching sound of a deepstalker pack. The Dwarven ruins remained silent as they searched its ruined halls and twisting corridors, descending deeper and deeper into the heart of the stone. Only the nauseating humming of the tainted lyrium broke the stillness that felt deceptive in its completion. Sereda was relentless, leading them through the ruins guided by faint traces of the Paragon's passage - the torn pages of an ancient Dwarven text, a carved rune - and the stone sense that coursed through her veins.

"I don't like this stillness, boss," said Bull as they entered yet another stone chamber, cracked earthenware pots and water-stained papers strewn across the ground. Reina agreed, bending over as she searched the debris for traces of the Paragon.

"It is quite odd that we haven't run into _anything_ so far." Their voices resonated against the silence. A sound of discovery came from Sereda.

"They did not listen. The ancient texts spoke of water - it may be our only hope." The dwarf's hands trembled as she read the scrap of paper clutched between her fingers. There was a shout from the next room, where Krem had led the Chargers to continue the search.

"We've got bodies chief!" The mercenary paused, examining the wounds, "Don't recognize the make of these arrows, but they're a nasty piece of work." Reina followed Sereda into the next room, where a trail of dwarven corpses seemed to have ended in a bitter final stand. An audible sigh of relief escaped the other woman's lips as she failed to recognize the Paragon among the dead.

"I've seen these arrows before," Reina felt a sickening recognition as she examined the unique fletchings, " _Darkspawn_. Be on your guards!"

"Well that explains the quiet - every nug, spider, or deepstalker has probably been eaten. Alive." There was anxiety lurking behind Varric's insouciant sarcasm and Reina could hear the same anxiety beating a staccato tempo in her quickening pulse. She was afraid, fearful of the twisted visages that were so close to being a person yet so far, terrified of the image of darkness swarming beneath their feet, multiplying and waiting to consume anything and everything touched by the light. There was something about the wrongness of the darkspawn that made her choke with horror - an irrational, involuntary reaction that had cost the lives of half a dozen good soldiers, good men, who had used their shields and bodies to save her from an unexpected ambush at Griffon's Wing Keep - another sin to haunt her sleepless nights. Whoever had led them here must know, and only one name outside of the Inquisition came to mind.

"Let's keep moving," she forced her voice to steady, "If there are darkspawn breaking through, we need to find their access point and seal it as quickly as possible."

The eerie silence of the ruins continued to stalk them as they followed the grotesque trail marked by dismembered Dwarven bodies, their decaying eyes staring blankly into the deepening darkness with incomprehending despair. Reina heard Dalish igniting a veilfire behind her, the heatless blue light pushing back against the shadows of the narrow earthen tunnel. The tunnel widened to reveal a space piled with the intermingled corpses of Dwarves and darkspawn. Across from the tunnel a stack of spent firepowder guarded a chasm in the stone through which they could see the yawning blackness that belonged to the Deep Roads.

"I can feel it," Sereda's eyes were wide and unfocused, "There is something of ours there sleeping beneath the Stone." She took a few stumbling steps towards the chasm and Varric hastily grabbed her arm, drawing her back.

"Cat, hurry and seal it before more of those blighted things come out."

"No!" Sereda wrenched her arm from Varric's grasp and drew her sword, directing its blade at Reina. "Anyone who dares to seal this passage will feel the fury of Orzammar!" The stale darkness mingled with the stench of rot and blight pressed down upon Reina's senses and she briefly wondered what the Dwarven woman would look like encased in ice. She hated the numbing sensation of being below the earth - direction and time losing all sense of purpose, she hated the muffled humming of red lyrium they could still hear through the layers of rock and dirt, and she hated the smell and lurking presence of darkspawn.

"Don't be daft," she heard Varric saying, "It's crawling with darkspawn down there. I don't know about you, Prickles, but there's a reason I never considered joining the bloody Wardens."

"Cower up here if you wish, _Tethras_ ," Sereda infused the word with blistering malice, "I will do my duty to Orzammar." She took a step forwards, the tip of her blade rasping against the chest of Reina's armor. Reina moved back, swallowing another wave of panic as her vision blurred with green light.

"This is a suicide mission, Lady Sereda." It took all of her willpower to keep her voice even. "We have Grey Wardens quartered at Skyhold - let me seal the tunnel and return to Skyhold to discuss this matter with my advisors. We can return with stronger numbers, warriors experienced in driving back the darkspawn." The dwarf sneered, her grey eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I know better than to trust the words of a surface-dweller." There was a scratching sound as Sereda spoke, like the sound of claws against stone. Sera's face had been pale since they had discovered the dead bodies and she finally snapped.

"Andraste's flaming knickers - if the crazy dwarf wants to sodding get herself eaten by darkspawn let her go sodding get herself -" She was cut off by a rattling cry as Dalish collapsed behind them, a genlock arrow lodged in her throat.

"Dammit Dalish!" Krem whirled around, unsheathing his sword. There was a whining sound and a second arrow flew past Reina's head, leaving a thin line of blood that wept down her cheek. Bull and Grim charged past the rest of the party, raising their shields just in time to block a volley of black arrows from the tunnel they had just passed through. A shriek shifted from the shadows alongside her and she reflexively stepped back through the Fade, freezing the creature with a burst of ice. There was a rush of hoarse laughter and Sereda snapped out of her trance just in time to drive her sword into the chest of an armored hurlock that had crawled through the chasm, cleaving the creature in two. It was followed by what seemed to be a foul black stream as the waiting darkspawn spilled into the stone chamber, driving into the defenders as the ambush of shrieks and genlocks cut off their retreat.

Reina let a burst of spiritual energy explode from her body, pushing back the darkspawn so Varric and Sera could scramble for enough space to aim their arrows. There was a burst of bright light and the whirring of bees as one of Sera's grenades exploded into a cluster of enemies, followed by ghoulish shrieks of pain. Bull and the Chargers were steadily driving back the more lightly armored foes that had followed them down the tunnel, but the chamber was quickly flooding with darkspawn - for every one that Reina felled, her spirit blade and spells alternating in succeeding flashes of magic, an entire mob seemed to spill from the chasm.

"Boss you have to seal it! Now!" Bull barrelled a path through the monsters, his bloodstained horns tossing an aiming genlock to the side. Panic circuited through Reina's senses as she tried to find the opening in the rock, but the swarm of darkspawn surrounding her pressed in too closely. She stumbled as her barrier was too slow to deflect a hurlock's axe and a searing pain chased up her side. Her grip on the Fade was slipping - she was on the fields of Ostagar feeling the despair of betrayal as the Wardens were left to die, she was stumbling through the Deep Roads alongside Blackwall trying to remember the warmth of sunlight on her face, she was watching helplessly outside of the gates of Val Royeaux as a darkspawn's spear pierced Cullen's heart and murmuring the name of a faithless Herald with her final breath - Reina cast her spells haphazardly, no longer certain whether she was aiming at friend or foe.

"Bull get Cat out of there before she sets all of us on fire too!" A pair of strong hands grabbed Reina as she tried to focus on the distant sound of Varric's voice. She vaguely heard Bull's bellow calling for a retreat. Blood. There was blood as Skinner pressed a hastily mixed poultice against her side, the faint fragrance of elfroot helping to focus her senses.

"Good to have you back with us boss. The way back up is cleared - I'll have the Chargers hold them back while the rest of us get the hell out of here." Reina nodded, gasping in pain as she got to her feet. The chamber was laced with ice and fire, spikes of ice jutting from the ceiling as flames burned the mountains of darkspawn corpses. Varric and Sera were hastily retreating, their arrows almost completely spent, while Sereda brought up the rear, her greatsword flashing with fury as she brought it down on the ebbing swarm of enemies.

"We'll have to collapse the tunnel behind us," her voice rasped against her throat. The harsh winter had brought settlements of fishermen back to the Storm Coast, driven by the threat of starvation. The consequences of the darkspawn being free to overrun the villages were unthinkable. Bull's arms steadied her as they made their way up the narrow passageway, the Chargers slowly following the party as they kept back the pursuing horde. The gash to her side tore deeper into her flesh from the motion and Reina collapsed into the stone chamber, her hand pressed against the wound in an effort to stay the bleeding. She briefly considered risking a healing spell, but she was uncertain whether her drained mana would even be sufficient to seal the corridor behind them.

"We're through Krem!" Bull shouted as the rest of the party followed them into the chamber, "Get the hell out of there!"

"Be right there, chief!" The Chargers ran towards the chamber, the shrieking fury of the darkspawn echoing behind them. For an instant, it seemed like they would make it - then there was a thundering sound, the grin on Krem's face freezing as he turned to face a hurlock alpha, the creature towering over the Chargers in its heavy black armor. The massive darkspawn swung its serrated blade at Grim, who leapt to the side to dodge it. As it engaged the Chargers, the darkspawn that had been pursuing them began to press into the stone chamber, forestalling any attempts to reach the desperately fighting mercenaries.

"We can't hold them off much longer!" Sereda's blade swept a crimson arc as it severed the head of a darkspawn that had pushed through the corridor. Staggering slightly, Reina stabbed the blade of her staff into a shriek, and tried to find the Chargers in the mass of black that they kept barely pinned into the passageway. Horror laced with an emotion she couldn't quite place coiled in her gut. They weren't going to make it. Her eyes met Bull's and she saw the wild pleading in his eyes and slowly shook her head. She fell back and let Varric and Sera clear a space around her as she gathered her remaining mana, focusing it on the Fade surrounding the tunnel. Bull was screaming now - she had never heard the Qunari beg before - and she wished she could answer his furious pleas. If only she had a little more mana, if only she hadn't let panic overtake her, if only she hadn't tried to reason with Sereda - it seemed so unfair that even with Corypheus dead other people would continue to pay the price for her mistakes.

"I'm sorry, Bull," she screamed as she tugged on the Fade, pulling the entire corridor into itself, "I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry." There was the deafening crumbling sound of collapsing rock followed by a bestial roar - the voice of pure agony and fury. Bull charged through the remaining darkspawn, tearing them from limb to limb, his wordless yells echoing through the chamber. As the shredded pieces of the last darkspawn rained to the ground, he rounded on Reina, a coat of blood - his own mingled with the dark ooze from the darkspawn - dripping from his shoulders. Reina shuddered as she let herself slide to the ground. The eyes advancing towards her were crazed with loss - if the man who had fought by her side through countless battles and laughed as he goaded Dorian was still there, she could not find him in the force of pure rage before her.

"Andraste have mercy," Varric whispered in stunned disbelief, "Bull's gone mad."

Her breath came in shaky gasps as Reina watched the Tal-Vashoth make his way towards her. There was a burning in her chest that threatened to stop her heart and Reina realized with a start that it was pain. Not the cold ache of remembered pain, but pain that was fresh and new, that made a person want to dig their fingers into their own heart and drag it from their chest. She had seen so much loss since the fall of the Circles and the war against Corypheus that she had become numb to it - but the Chargers were more than another cluster of ghosts to haunt her nights, they had been friends - family. Something wet splashed onto Reina's fingers and she looked up to see Bull gazing down at her, his face coursing with tears.

"Let's get out of here boss." He didn't meet her eyes as he turned towards the stairs that led up and away from the chamber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author is a terrible human being and deserves to rot in the Void forever.
> 
> Also darkspawn actually seriously properly freak me out - I'm pretty okay with the zombies and the demons and the possessed bodies, but darkspawn give me the creeps.


End file.
